


It's a Fairytale

by ehre_wahrheit



Series: Adriar's Fic Challenge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel POV, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Cuddles, Disney Movies, Domestic Violence, Other, adult verbal violence, parents fighting, sitter! Dean Winchester, teen! Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can we not do this with our son in the room?”</p><p>Castiel sighed. He made to stand up, but he caught his mother’s eyes—so he sat back down and looked at her expectantly. She smiled, but it’s sad, and all he wanted was to walk over and hold her in his arms—but his dad was in the room, and it was dad he was scared of most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> So shit happened, and I wanted to write--added to the challenge I'm writing, this came out. **Sigh**  
> Just a warning: This depicts family troubles that may not be something you are comfortable with. Please heed! Thanks :)  
> \--
> 
>  **Title:** It’s a Fairytale  
>  **Word count:** 1,312  
>  **Pairing:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **Tags/Warnings:** Domestic violence, childhood trauma, parents fighting, adult verbal violence, Disney movies, childhood, teen! Castiel, sitter! Dean Winchester, cuddles, Castiel POV, angst  
>  **Collections:** Adriar’s ‘Write This Stuff’ Challenge 2014  
>  **Challenge:** No. 1: Good childhood memory + bad childhood memory (Disney movies/cuddles + family fights)

**It’s a Fairytale**

 

“Can we _not_ do this with our son in the room?”

Castiel sighed. He made to stand up, but he caught his mother’s eyes—so he sat back down and looked at her expectantly. She smiled, but it’s sad, and all he wanted was to walk over and hold her in his arms—but his dad was in the room, and it was _dad_ he was scared of most.

It’s _dad_ everyone is scared of in this neighborhood—that’s why no one’s reported the screaming and the noises at night.

His dad was going to flip out and say he was taking sides if he goes to his mom now, and—as their lawyer said, it was better if he wasn’t involved.

“I’ve called Dean over,” she said, and that perked Castiel up. Dean Winchester began babysitting him when he was only six years old—barely old enough to understand why his parents were rarely home, but old enough to comprehend that the person taking care of him wasn’t old enough to be working. Dean had been fourteen back then, when he started working for the Collins family.

He’s been Castiel’s caretaker for ten years now, and with Cas harboring the, probably, biggest crush ever on the older man, he takes every opportunity he can to have Dean around.

Especially when this happens.

“Yeah, okay,” he answered, shrugging. “I’ll be in the other room.”

He moved towards the entertainment room, and debated whether he should put in a movie or a game. He decided—why not put on something that would make both him and Dean feel better? They’d both probably need it. He went to the kitchen, too, grabbing soda and ice cream and popping two bags of popcorn into the microwave before moving everything back to the room.

Dean was already there when he arrived—and Cas almost dropped everything he was holding.

 _Holy fuck,_ he thought, _Dean looks good in uniform._ Dean was still in medical school—on a full ride at the university, too, and that made Cas proud of him—but the way he looked in medical garb was making Cas feel so much younger than he really was.

He blushed when Dean turned and shot him that smirk that made ladies and gentlemen alike want to fall to their knees and praise his looks and his _body_ , and Cas wanted to do that so bad that he almost dropped everything he was holding. Again.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said softly, standing and dropping his lab gown to the back of the couch before helping Cas bring all the food to the coffee table. Once there, he was surprised when Dean grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close, sitting him between his legs so Cas had no other choice but to rest his back against the older man’s chest.

“I—I’ve put on Lion King,” Cas said, clearing his throat before leaning forward and grabbing a bag of popcorn, opening it before pressing ‘play’ on the remote control. The song began, that weird chanting, and Cas grinned at Dean over his shoulder as he ate on, completely forgetting about his parents in the living room.

Well, that is, until their voices rose over the volume of the television and he could hear them screaming at each other and wanting nothing but to beg them to shut up.

“ _—are ruining your own son’s life!”_ his mother was yelling, and he heard a crash—the vase beside the couch, probably, and he cowered deeper into Dean, who wrapped his arms around his waist and held him tight. “ _What are you going to say for yourself, huh?_ ”

“ _I tried!”_ his father yelled right back, and Cas tried, he really did, to concentrate on the song that Simba and Timone and Pumba were beginning to sing in through the stereo, but it didn’t—couldn’t—help. “ _I tried, and I pushed and shoved but you pushed me right back. What the fuck else could I have done?_ ”

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned to the side, pressing his face against Dean’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of his aftershave, of the fabric conditioner he used, of sanitizers from school, of sweat and pencil shavings and leather and whisky that was so naturally _Dean_ , of his tangy cologne. He tried, tried, tried to distract himself from the yelling, from the fighting, from the voices he cried to every night and ran away from every morning.

Dean began running his fingers through Cas’s hair—and… yeah, that’s perfect. That’s it. _Please_.

Dean chuckled, and he might have said that aloud, but he couldn’t care—it was making the voices fainter and fainter until all he could hear was Dean, Dean breathing, his heart beating, his fingers rustling his hair. He sighed contentedly against the older man’s skin.

“ _So you’re running away._ ”

The sentence made him jump. What?

“ _You’re going to leave—after you wreck the lives of everyone around you, you run away—that is_ so _like you. I don’t even know why I still love you. Why does this keep happening to me? Why does everyone keep—”_

He gritted his teeth and pushed his face farther into Dean’s collar, willing the tears to back down, but it was unsuccessful. He began crying—and then he began sobbing, sobbing like the little kid he really was. He didn’t even know how he could pretend he could be good enough for this man holding him right now. He was a _child_ —just someone who cried over things he couldn’t do anything about, who complained about things he couldn’t be strong enough to stand up to.

He clung onto Dean, ignoring the voices in the other room.

That’s something he’s gotten good at—ignoring the world when he was crying. He couldn’t do anything about it—this was a fight of adults, their lawyer told him. _You’re better off not getting involved._

But he wanted it to _stop_. He wanted to be able to watch Lion King and be held by Dean and eat popcorn and ice cream and bad soda not because he was trying to find a way to make himself feel better about his pitiful life, but because he was happy and his parents wanted him to have a break from all their smothering love.

He sobbed—and he began talking.

He began talking about how, when they went outside, he and his mom and his dad were this happy little family with all smiles and beautiful lives; how at school he’s the golden boy with perfect grades and perfect friends and perfect looks; how to other people they had such a beautiful, wonderful life. He began talking to Dean about how the media portrayed them as the poster family of wellness and health and equality and acceptance, especially after Cas came out as not – so – straight.

He began talking about how he wanted to badly to believe the columns and tabloids and newscasts; how he began envying the family he saw in magazines and on the television and in the internet—the beautiful, smiling wife; the affectionate, proud father; and the innocent, loving son. He talked about how he wanted to fucking badly to say that he was the boy in those stories—not how that is another boy entirely, created for the sake of fucking society—

“It’s all a fairytale, Dean,” he whispered brokenly, pressing his face closer to Dean’s skin. “The tabloids were right—what they were writing about. It’s so fucking _funny_ how right they are about it. It’s a fairytale. _It’s just a fairytale—it’s not real._ ”

“Shh, baby,” Dean said, and he didn’t say anymore. He didn’t have to, not really. This was Dean—who could have been his prince, if his life _was_ a fairytale.

“I want it to be real.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I had a Dean back when I was a kid and this was happening. LoL. So, anyway--here it is. I hope it didn't disappoint anyone /too/ badly.
> 
> You can hit me up at my [ Tumblr ](http://peur-van-dunkelheit.tumblr.com) if you want to leave me a prompt/challenge or whatnot. Yeah.
> 
> Um. Okay. I'm out.


End file.
